When Prince Chang returned to his mansion, it was already time to light the lamps. Among the servants attending to the evening meal was a young maid with an unfamiliar face, likely new to the household. She seemed fascinated by everything, her bright eyes fixated on the ivory animal-shaped chopstick rests on the table, unable to look away.
Ji Chang found it amusing and called her closer, asking, "What is your name, and where are you from?" The girl's plump cheeks flushed crimson, and she stammered, "Your Highness, this humble servant is called Xiao Liu, from Chishan." Just as Ji Chang was about to say something more, the steward hurried in and whispered something in his ear. Ji Chang set down his silver chopsticks and rose to leave, but before going, he turned back, picked up one of the chopstick rests, and tossed it to the maid named Xiao Liu. "It's just a chopstick rest. Take a few to play with if you like." Xiao Liu, both embarrassed and flustered, could only lower her head and stare at the small, exquisitely carved ivory tiger in her hand—so lifelike and adorable.
Once Prince Chang had walked away, the senior maid playfully tugged Xiao Liu's ear and laughed, "Lucky for you, our prince cares about nothing but amusement. If it were any other master, your lack of decorum would have earned you a scolding."
Upon entering his inner chamber, Prince Chang was met by Fu Yi, who immediately rose and bowed. Ji Chang gave a slight nod, the trace of a smile vanishing from his face as his expression turned stern. "Fang Zhu has beaten us to it again."
"I never imagined he would take such a reckless risk," Fu Yi sighed.
"A brilliant move—forcing himself into a dead end to find new life," Prince Chang remarked with a light scoff. "If that girl had fallen into my hands, she truly could have been used to pressure Fang Zhu. No wonder he chose to hand such a beauty over to the emperor." After a moment of silence, he added, "Fang Zhuoying is also a tricky opponent. With the heavy snow blocking the passes, it's hard to know the situation with the Left Pudu King."
"I've heard the Left Pudu King has a strategist from the Eastern Continent who commands troops like a god. The barbarians hold him in awe. With him there, we need not worry too much."
"Hearing you say that makes me almost impatient for the start of spring," Prince Chang chuckled.
Fu Yi's face remained as impassive as iron as he spoke indifferently, "Your Highness, forgive my presumption, but with leaks occurring repeatedly, there must be spies within the mansion. We must find a way to eliminate them."
"Most of the household servants are born into service and are quite reliable. Only about seventy or eighty were bought from outside, and of those, fewer than twenty have access to the inner courtyard. Interrogating them one by one would be too troublesome." Prince Chang exhaled, his brow smoothing. "No matter. I am not short of attendants."
That night, on the eve of Prince Chang's birthday, poisonous mushrooms were mistakenly cooked in the mansion's kitchen. Twenty-three servants succumbed to madness from the poison and died. Their bodies were carried out through the back gate of the mansion and sent to the coroner's office in the capital. Passersby averted their eyes and hurried on their way.
A man in blue, wearing a snow hat, took a few steps before his boot trod on something. Moving his foot aside, he saw a small ivory tiger, no larger than a thumb, embedded in the snow. Peering out from under his hat, he watched as carts rumbled past him one after another, disappearing into the depths of the street where sparse snowflakes fell.
The man in blue hurried another two or three miles before knocking on the side door of a tavern. The attendant brought out a horse, its saddle bearing a long, oilcloth-wrapped bundle. The man mounted the horse, which trotted a few steps before breaking into a gallop. In the direction he was headed, atop a mountain over ten miles away, stood the imperial palace.A pair of gilded candles were nearly burnt out, yet their bright red flames still danced. From dusk to midnight, the man sitting alone beneath the candlelight had not blinked once, his gaze as clear and steady as still water.
Colorful silk ribbons were tied into a love knot, connecting two gold-inlaid, cloud-patterned double-gourd wine cups filled to the brim with fine liquor. Two pairs of ivory chopsticks, tipped with gold, were similarly bound together with silk ribbons, arranged neatly side by side.
Dishes laden with auspicious symbolism—pomegranate blossoms symbolizing numerous descendants, preserved perilla and emblic fruits, tender green lotus roots, gold-dusted fragrant herbs, scallop and shrimp delicacies, crispy fried tripe, and steamed quail with lily bulbs—remained untouched. Gradually, they lost their warmth, growing cold and congealed, just as they had been served.
Suddenly sensing something, the man called toward the door, "Who's there?" "Steward, it's Xiaoxiao." Fang Zhu stood up, walked to the door, and opened it just a foot wide.
Xiaoxiao stood there in dark robes, his snow-dusted bamboo hat still on his head, holding a long, oilcloth-wrapped bundle. At the sight of Fang Zhu, he froze momentarily.
Fang Zhu was still dressed in the blue court robes he had worn during the day, the left shoulder of his garment hanging loosely at his waist, the front and back hems still fastened.
Xiaoxiao handed over the bundle and said, "The eldest young master sent someone to deliver this. He said they launched a night raid on the Zuopudun tribe's encampment and killed a strategist from the Eastern Continent. This is the weapon that strategist wielded." Fang Zhu unwrapped the layers of oilcloth, revealing a dull iron-hued straight blade, its design simple yet dignified. The inch-and-a-half-wide blade was already cracked, yet it had still managed to slice through two or three layers of the wrapping.
"A broad-bladed straight sword from the Diaochong Workshop. So, the Eastern Continent strategist serving the Zuopudun chieftain was indeed Su Ming, who went missing years ago.Holding the blade's spine, Fang Zhu examined the finely engraved character "虫" (chong) near the hilt and remarked with a faint smile, "That man was always adept at reading the times, clever and resourceful to the core." Yet in the end, he couldn't escape a violent death by the blade." Peering over Fang Zhu’s shoulder, Xiaoxiao caught sight of the meticulously arranged feast inside the room, along with the untouched cups and chopsticks. It was as if the host had kept vigil through the long night, quietly awaiting a guest—though he knew full well that person would never return, for it was he himself who had pushed her away.
For the first time, Xiaoxiao noticed the faint shadows of exhaustion beneath the eyes of this elegant man and the startlingly deep furrow that had formed between his brows overnight. Suddenly, Xiaoxiao took a step back, his right hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword.
"What is it?" Fang Zhu frowned slightly, studying Xiaoxiao’s stunned expression.
Even someone as composed as Xiaoxiao could hardly believe his eyes. He stared, speechless, as if an invisible blade had slashed through the air. Before his very eyes, two diagonal white marks appeared out of nowhere beneath Fang Zhu’s left eye. A moment later, they began to seep with red.
Fang Zhu hesitantly raised his hand to touch the wounds, his fingertips coming away stained with blood. His expression was unfamiliar, as though the blood did not belong to him.
The steel blade clattered to the ground.
"Steward!" Xiaoxiao struggled to suppress his shock.
Fang Zhu widened his eyes in surprise, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing a vivid red mark—not from internal injury, nor from biting himself. Xiaoxiao clearly saw it: a delicate, tiny set of tooth marks, like those left by a child or perhaps a woman. And just a moment before, those marks had not been there."It's fine, you may go back now," Fang Zhu said coldly, his brows furrowing once more. "Quickly." Xiao Zi bowed and turned to leave, not daring to linger a moment longer. What was truly startling was not the splotches of blood seeping rapidly like living things from beneath his dark blue court robes, but the fact that this man, whose posture had always been upright and composed, was trembling uncontrollably.
Fang Zhu swiftly shut the door and, mustering his strength, made his way back to the table, reaching out to extinguish the gilded floral candle. After a faint clinking of porcelain, only the sound of labored, heavy breaths remained in the darkness.
"Hate me if you must. As long as you live, even if it’s a life worse than death—as long as you live."
Amidst the struggle for breath, a brief, soft laugh escaped.
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